


Scars

by your_cringy_father



Category: Hermitcraft, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with no happy ending, Open Ending, Other, Scars, Short, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-23 19:58:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20895272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_cringy_father/pseuds/your_cringy_father
Summary: Grian forgot about his past at the wrong time





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> tw: scars, implied accident, implied abuse, flashbacks, panic attacks
> 
> \--
> 
> A short fic with little words!

It was a slip up. 

Grian was so lost in the moment, so deep in the exuberant feeling of acceptance and love that for once, just for a second, he forgot about them. 

He was just trying to change into a new outfit, something new for once, a nice comfy sweater vest and button up combo. To class up for the class up for the opening of Sahara, of course he needed a fresh look. And no, of course he wouldn’t go change far away from his co-CEO’s, because it was just throwing on a shirt, nothing more. 

No, because of course he didn’t think of what he’d be exposing them to. 

It wasn’t until the red sweater and bundled up in his hands, off his back that was facing the two jabbering (but now silent, though Grian didn’t notice) duo, that he realized his mistake. 

A cold rush of reality hitting him like a train--

Train, oh god, the train. The wreck, Taurtis, oh god. Oh god Sam--

He immediately cinches up, shoulders pushed up by his ears and brushing the hair that’s grown so unruly in his time here. 

Oh god, he really fucked up. 

“Gr-” A strangled sound comes from Iskall, who clears his throat, “Grian, cmon, get ready.” He was avoiding it. Avoiding the question hanging above them. 

They were being nice. Looking past what was obviously bothering them. Dammit. DAMMIT. He mentally catalogued the ones they would have seen. A few slices across his shoulders, thick pink lines of nails dug into his spine, gunshot wounds that broke through his ribs and shoulder blades-- 

Grian had already shut his eyes, breathing erratic. He could hear Tarutis in his head, whenever he had a flashback in Evo-- Don’t close your eyes, count-- it all becomes a blur in his mind. 

“You don’t have to…” Grian starts, voice wavering. He refuses to turn around, show the rest of the ugliness on his frontside. It was always worse on his front. He takes a sharp breath, “Just do it. I know what you’re going to ask-- Just ask it.” 

There’s a quiet shuffle, Mumbo and Iskall both maybe deciding who will be brave enough to ask what’s lingering in their mind. In the end, he hears Mumbo mutter something under his breath, which is ended by a sharp hit from Iskall. He takes a breath and seemingly tries again;

“Wh… Grian wh-why are there so many scars on your back?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't want to talk about it, but at this point whats the point in keeping silent?
> 
> -NO BETA-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I'm not exactly sure how I got to writing another chapter of this? 
> 
> I should clarify uh, I'm not writing this to romanticize abuse or mental illness. I write to cope, and it just so happened my coping with my own scars happened to be an interesting topic AS WELL as something I wanted to revisit. 
> 
> So uh. Yeah. I project myself onto characters (simply characters, not the people). 
> 
> just covering my ass, sorry. 
> 
> \--also im anxious as hell so hey if actual hermits try to do a goof goof look at these fan fics things video uh maybe... skip mine... pls... thank u--

Isolation had never been easier. 

He kicked himself the entire time home after his slip up at Sahara.

No, he chided himself, you’re Grian. You’re funny, you laugh, you’re the lighthearted banter, silly guy-- whatever. Not… Not that. 

And it was the topic of conversation to himself and ONLY himself for the next two days. 

No contact, no leaving the building, just quiet contemplation and bitter words. 

It wasn’t until day three, waking up next to his bed rather than on it, that he looked at his tablet. Some messages here and there, nothing abnormal. 

Too many concerning messages from his friends, very abnormal and very not okay. 

He was tempted to send back something scathing, or perhaps something funny? Get them off his back for a few minutes. 

‘Just fell asleep on the job!’ 

‘Was off doing chicken business!’ 

But none of them seemed… fair. 

Not to Mumbo or Iskall, at least. They had questioned, and wanted answers. Did they deserve them or need them? No. Grian had no obligation to tell anyone about him. But… it’d been so long since he let someone in. 

Even just saying his name would be a burning relief. Like ripping off a bandaid. Hurts, but the payoff is worth more than the pain. 

Grian wasn’t sure how accurate that was. 

Still, he was tired and ready to make impulsive decisions, so why not? 

He sends a quick message their way to meet him somewhere neutral, on the hill closest to the bay. A warm, summery spot where Grian could see his base from the solid ground. Something about the way the sun set on the large concrete building made him feel safe. Which made it the perfect spot to speak about things that made him unsafe.

It was midday when they both finally made it, Iskall 20 minutes after Mumbo. Yeah, that was about right. 

“Something wrong?” Iskall asked, situating himself comfortably on the ground. 

God, he wished he was as good at hiding his emotions as Iskall was today. 

“I wanted… to answer your questions.” Grian mumbled out. 

“You don’t need to!” Mumbo quickly interjected. 

“I know.” Grian responded, shaking his head, “I want to. It’s been… so long since I’ve talked about it. Maybe… talking about it will help.”

Iskall nods and Mumbo quietly takes a seat next to him, both waiting patiently for Grian’s go ahead.

He does a quick head nod, shrugging his shoulders, “You can ask, it’s okay.” 

“Who gave you the scars and do they live near us?” Iskall blurts, voice stone and steady. Though the underlying implications sent a shiver up Grian’s spine. Someone wasn’t very happy. 

“An old… uh.. Accomplice.” He grimaced, “We went to school together. No, they don’t live here. They’re many…” He thinks for a moment, collecting his thoughts, “He’s many worlds away.” 

Iskall’s shoulders slump. From the relaxing thought that Grian was safe, or from disappointment he couldn’t get his just desserts-- Grian wasn’t sure. 

“Were they really all from him?” Mumbo asks, voice small and lost in the memory of Grian’s checkered back. 

“Mostly. Some were my fault.” He flinches hard and swallows before correcting, “From falling. Or something.” 

“Were any of them… by you?” 

“Next question.” Grian replies numbly, not ready to get into that discussion right now. 

“Does he have anything to do with Taurtis?” Iskall asks. 

“No. Well… y-yes. But not… in the way you suspect.” 

“How so?” 

Grian’s arms cross, hugging his stomach, “He loved Taurtis very much. Too much.” 

“Too much?” Mumbo pressed, obviously confused.

“It got to obsession and… when he got hurt-- all that was left was me.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

Grian takes a deep breath, “I was Taurtis’ replacement. Sam didn’t like Taurtis being gone so… he brought out the understudy. Made me… wear the headphones and respond to his name. Forced me to do things and say things I didn’t want to do or say. He told me I’ve always been Taurtis, always been this way. Just… didn’t know. And I was the crazy one-- I was!” His trauma opens like a faucet and everything pours out with thick words. 

“No one stopped him, no one said anything! No one helped because there was no one left! But I was me, I am NOT Taurtis I-I-” His throat closes and he coughs, clearing his throat of the wracked sobs. 

He barely registers a slim form approaching him, and speaking under their breath to him. 

“Grian, listen, you’re still here-- you’re okay. It’s okay. Y-You’re uh-” He glances to Iskall for help, who tries out an awkward, “You’re Grian, we know. You’re not anyone else, and we wouldn’t want you to be.” 

It seems to be the right thing to say, because the shudders slow and Grian leans nigh his whole weight into Mumbo’s definitely-too-weak arms. 

“I’m sorry. That was too much. I didn’t mean to say that much.” He says, muffled by the fabric of Mumbo’s suit. 

“Don’t worry about it, G.” Iskall shakes his head, patting his back affectionately. 

“I’m proud of you for saying what you did, honestly!” Mumbo chirps, and the familiar tick warms Grian’s chest. He was safe, truly. 

“Thanks you guys… I’m sorry to be--” 

“Don’t even finish that sentence mister! Toxic masculinity is bullshite!” Iskall scoffs, pulling the smaller man into a hug. 

He’d protest but dammit, the warmth is too good to pull away from. When was the last time he had positive touch like this? 

Comforted by the touch of his friends, Grian lets his eyes close and feels the tension drain from his muscles. He wasn’t sure he’d ever regret telling them this, not after all that. 

Because he finally knew he was home again.


End file.
